StacheMan
by M2S
Summary: Greg's POV. One shot What is with the mustache, Nick? GSN


Disclaimer: Don't own them.

A/N: A little one shot. Why the mustache Nick? Greggo POV. Please review.

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I let the mustache slide at first. He had let the shaved head grow out, and I was thankful, even if at this point it was getting a little longer than I had expected it to. Then the side burns became longer and a bit fuller. That was fine. I am all about changing appearances. Who am I to judge what someone else wants to do, right?

The mustache started off innocently enough. He didn't shave all weekend, and Nicky is a surprisingly hairy guy when he doesn't shave. So Monday, he shaved the pseudo-beard that had formed, but he left the mustache.

It was, hmm, different. I tried not to say anything, but my face must have given it away.

"What?" he said. "You don't like it, G?" he asked with a grin, but I could see the hurt waiting to happen.

"I'll wait to make up my mind when it's grown in," I said. I already wanted it gone. His grin turned to a mild grimace at my comment, but I gave him my most charming smile, and he couldn't help but smile back.

"You might like it," he said. "I used to wear a mustache all of the time back in Dallas." I wanted to ask if that look had included a mullet hairstyle and large rodeo belt buckle, but I refrained. He had already told me so many times that Dallas was not a redneck backwater that I knew better than to say it. But how I wanted to. I could even imagine Mullet Nick in shit-kickers and acid washed blue jeans with a styling Wrangler pink cowboy shirt. I must have smiled at the image.

"What are you thinking?" he had asked, a wary look on his face. Did he really know me so well?

"You're working with Warrick tonight, right?" I said in reply. Nick's wariness changed to attitude when realization dawned on him.

"Ah, I don't care what Warrick says. It might not hurt him to grow a little facial hair," Nick said gruffly. The image of Warrick with a 'stache and soul patch caused Mullet Nick to disappear. Now I was on to 'Rick Dogg, imagining Warrick with Snoop style pencil thin and his hair in braids. I was giggling out loud. "Do I even want to know?" Nick asked.

"Just imagining Warrick as Snoop Dogg," I said. Even Nick laughed at that.

After shift, we were sitting in the diner. Warrick had actually joined us that morning, which was a rarity since he had gotten married, and really, since he had met Tina. I was glad that he had found someone, but we were all a little surprised at the suddenness. Everyone was laughing at something that Sara had said when Warrick looked over at Nick and guffawed.

"Damn, Mustache Boy, you're already stroking that thing like a pet," Warrick said. I looked at Nick, and he was sitting there, his thumb and forefinger smoothing the caterpillar above his lip, looking like someone missing from a Marlboro man ad.

"Good times, sitting around the camp after a long day's ride," I said, unable to help myself. It was too far. Nick's face turned red and he hastily dropped his hand from his face.

"Did you really just call him 'Mustache Boy'?" Sara asked. "We don't call you 'Ring Man' now," she said. "And I don't recall anyone ever calling Greg 'Fauxhawk'," she continued.

"Well, not to his face," Warrick said. I stuck out my tongue. Sara tried to hide her smile.

"Leave Nick alone," she said.

"So you're saying you like the Burt Reynolds look," Warrick said. I almost spit out my drink with that one, but I strangled on it instead. Nick pounded my back with his hand, probably a little harder than he needed to do.

"She appreciates a fine looking man," Nick said, in between beating me on the back. Sara shook her head.

"I do appreciate a fine looking man," she agreed. But then she said, "But that's neither here nor there. Whatever you want to do with your facial hair is none of our business." Nick's face fell and I choked on my last bite of pancake. Warrick didn't even try to hide his grin.

"No love at the table for Mustache Boy," he said.

It rocked on for a few weeks. Nick didn't get ribbed about it like he could have, mainly because Sara had not hidden her disapproval. Though Nick might not have known it, she had been extremely protective of him in the background since the whole kidnapping incident. Even Hodges had not said anything to him, which was an accomplishment on Sara's part.

"You don't really like the mustache?" Hodges had asked.

"Hey, whatever Nick wants to do to his look is his business," I said, trying to tow the party line.

"Even you didn't ever try facial hair," Hodges said in that tone of his. I tried to look disapproving, but I couldn't fight the image of me with my inability to grow facial hair and Nicky as Marlboro Man around the campfire like some bizarro porn movie called "Humpback Mountain." I would like to think I would play the Jake Gyllenhall to Nick's Heath Ledger.

Hodges looked at me intently. I smiled innocently.

"Well, I might just try it," I said. Hodges harrumphed at that.

"It doesn't go with your hairstyle," he said. Nick walked by the window and waved. I waved back, but felt extremely guilty about the conversation I was having. I would have never thought it, but Hodges looked a little guilty too.

"Just lay off him Hodges," I said, though it was really too little, too late.

"Fine. Just don't tell Sara what I said." He actually looked around like she might be waiting in the wings to come kick his ass.

"So what is the deal with the mustache?" Sara asked me. It took me a moment to realize what she was talking about. We were each dressed out in lab gear and had been working steadily and amicably for the last hour on sifting through the dirt from a crime scene. I looked over at her. She looked lovely with smudges of dirt on her cheek and a stray hair working loose from the catchall ponytail she had her hair in.

"What?" I asked. We had been talking about all types of things while we worked. I loved working with Sara. We had an easy camaraderie that I hadn't found with anyone else on the shift, even Nick.

"The mustache. What is the deal with it?" she asked again. She rubbed at her face with the back of a gloved hand. That would explain how the dirt got there.

"I don't know. Why are you asking me? Besides, you've put everyone on alert level orange that nothing's to be said about it," I countered. "I thought you liked it."

"Hell no. Warrick's Burt Reynold's comment was right on the money. I was just trying to give Nick time to realize how bad it was," she said, frowning. "I can't stand the thought of anyone, especially Hodges, giving Nick a bad time." She went back to sieving dirt with a vengeance.

"You know, you and I could make a killing at one of those pan your own gold mines," I suggested. She gave me a patented Sara look, but I could see a smile when she turned back to her work.

"You need to talk to him," she said. Actually, she ordered.

"Why don't you talk to him?" I whined.

"You don't like it, do you?" she said. I was trying not to say. In reality, I hated it at first, but I had slowly grown more used to the Magnum, PI look. But I wasn't crazy about it.

"No. I don't like it. But it's not my choice, is it?"

"There's a reason why he has let it go on this long. You need to find out." Sara wasn't taking "no" for an answer.

"Why does there have to be a reason?" I asked. "He just didn't shave over one weekend and decided to try a mustache." I remembered the hurt in his eyes when I had made small comments about it. I didn't want to hurt him anymore. Sara wasn't the only one who was protective of Nicky.

"I want my smooth faced Texan back," Sara said. Silently, I agreed.

"I'll talk to him, but I am not promising any results," I said. Sara smiled and went back to sieving.

I had invited everyone to my apartment for supper. Or breakfast – however you want to look at a meal eaten after shift and before 10 am. It was something I did on occasion. Sometimes I made pizza. That's right, I made pizza. There's nothing like homemade, even if it's with a pre-made crust. Where else are you going to get artichoke, bacon and mushroom pizza at 9 am, even in Las Vegas?

This morning, it was smoked salmon frittata with oven fried potatoes and fresh fruit. Frittata is simple, but it looks complicated. I always have everything cut up and ready before I leave for work, then I can come in and make entertaining look easy.

The crowd came and left. Within a couple of hours, it was me, Sara and Nick, as usual. They were always the ones to help clean up.

"You two go on," I said. "I'm off tomorrow. Clean up will be a breeze."

"Especially since you used the good china," Sara said, picking up her heavy-duty paper plate.

"Be careful with that. His grandmother gave it to him," Nick said, smiling easily. I looked over at him and was jarred by the damn mustache. Sara was right. I wanted my old Nicky back. Sara had headed down the hall to my bathroom. I took a chance while Nick and I washed up the few glasses and silver ware. It was a companionable silence, and I was loath to break it up.

"So, uh, Nick. There was something I've been wanting to ask you," I started, stuttering. I could feel my face going a little red. Nick stopped in mid wash and looked at me.

"What is it, Greggo?" he asked. I couldn't meet his eyes.

"Well, It's just that I was wondering, well, why exactly did you grow the mustache?" I glanced at his face then, but was taken aback at what I saw. It was naked anger.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell does it matter? Why does everyone make such a big fucking deal out of this?" he growled, letting the glass drop back into the water. I cringed, expecting the glass to break. His voice was deadly quiet. I was wondering what was taking Sara so long in the bathroom. He walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, grabbing his coat.

"Whoa, man," I said, following him and blocking the door. "I'm not making a big deal about it. I just asked." He was scaring me a little now. I had been on the wrong side of Nick once before, but nothing like this. Sara had told me about a couple of personality explosions she had seen him go through, but I had doubted the intensity.

I didn't doubt now.

"Just leave me alone, Greg," Nick said.

"I don't want to. Why are you taking a simple question as a personal attack?" I asked quietly. "You know I am your friend. You know I care about you." I took his jacket out of his hand. "Talk to me," I said.

"Talk to us," Sara said. She was now standing in the kitchen.

"It's nothing. Why does everyone act like it's so awful?" Nick exclaimed.

"We want our smooth faced Texan back," Sara said quietly. She walked over to where we stood. She took Nick's hand.

"Bad things happen to smooth faced Texans," Nick said. It broke my heart when he said it. "You know, when I was younger, I could do anything, anytime. Nothing fazed me. Believe it or not, I was considered pretty fearless, but I came up here, and it has steadily gotten worse." He extricated his hand from Sara's and wiped away a tear from his face. I noticed how he had lines around his eyes now, lines that I didn't remember from before his burial. "The mustache reminded me of how it was, way back when."

"You can't go back to how it used to be, Nick," I said. Sara looked at me and nodded, tears swimming in her eyes. I could feel the tears in my own eyes.

"Looking like a cowboy isn't going to make you any less vulnerable," she said.

"Yeah, but it makes me feel less vulnerable. It makes me feel less – nice," he said. He looked broken and tired. I wanted to lay his head in my lap and smooth all the lines away. Sara could feed him grapes and fan him.

"Well, if that's how you want to roll, fine," I said. Sara and Nick both looked at me in surprise. "I mean, who am I to judge how someone wants to change their look."

"True," said Nick, smiling a little.

"The fact is, we love you no matter what," said Sara, slipping her hand back into his. She stroked his mustache lightly with her thumb. "Sam Elliot mustache, or no," she added.

"I was going for Tom Selleck, but Sam Elliot will do," Nick said, laughing a little more. He pulled Sara and me to him, hugging each of us with separate arms. Sara and I hugged each other with our free arms.

It was a cozy trio.

"Do you guys think we could stay like this forever?" I asked.

"Get your hand off my ass, Greg," Sara said.

"Mine too," echoed Nick.

Oh well.

The mustache was gone by the next shift.

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A/N: So how did I do with Greg POV? Let me know. 


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